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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27199220">Like the glide of skates across the ice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999'>kalika_999</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Jack and Brock's misadventures [136]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, HYDRA Husbands, Halloween, Hockey, M/M, Matchmaking, Meddling, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Oblivious, Pining</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:22:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,878</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27199220</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Brock's friends have decided that since he was single and Jack was single, they should get together.  All Brock wants to do is play hockey.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Jack and Brock's misadventures [136]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/547894</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Shipoween 2020 - The Halloween Ship Exchange!</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Like the glide of skates across the ice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/gifts">winter_angst</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>💙</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Brock’s reprieve from anything academic is hockey.  It’s his sole reason for conning his dad to moving into the placement area for the top ranking high school team and everything he lives for.  The last thing he wants is his mood messed up around what he loves the most by the people he’s supposed to be calling his friends and teammates.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, Brock.  It’s been a few months, there’s obviously someone you’re interested in or else you’d be up to your normal habits.”   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t a guy change?” Brock says, distracted with his jersey and fixing it just right before pulling it on over his head.  He props his skate against the bench before him and begins to lace them up.  Wiggling and adjusting the tongue a little, he reminds himself about the marks last time for doing them up too tight.  He wants to be able to move in them without any kind of worry but he doesn’t want to cut off his circulation. He checks over his padding, then pushes his hair back in anticipation to his helmet, sliding it across the bench closer to him. What he doesn’t anticipate in his routine is the locker room emptied out except for the trio blocking his exit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s not impressed. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not what.” Natasha says solemnly, all business. “<em>Who</em>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spill the beans, Rumlow,” Clint demands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who what?” Brock says, annoyance creeping in when all he wants is to get going. He gives Nat a pointed look. “Why are ya even <em>'ere</em>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m always here.” Natasha says plainly, which granted, is mostly true.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, who are you pining over?” Bucky asks, the trio huddling in closer as Brock steps forward mostly in hopes he can get through. “All this absence of </span>
  <em>
    <span>dates</span>
  </em>
  <span> is making us worry about you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock sighs. He really does love his friends, he does, but sometimes they get the weirdest shit stuck in their heads when it comes to him and really there are moments Brock doesn’t care about sex (it’s weird, he knows) and he gets into a thing where he focuses on other activities.  The other activity is usually hockey. Of course, but no one ever believes him when he says that, and it’s starting to piss him off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack walks past them in the hall from the offices, silent and intimidating as always, he’s a stone wall both on and off the ice. Brock is a little jealous Jack never has to deal with shit like this. He doesn’t know why he’s getting picked on; he knows the others aren’t afraid of Jack like a good majority of the student body yet don’t harass him like they do him, though with Brock it seems to be more of a morbid fascination about his sex life than anything else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A sudden idea hits him like a ton of bricks and he smirks, realizing the amazing potential of it.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine, fine.” He says casually, stepping in closer to keep it all private between them. “If you three idiots must know, it’s Jack alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clint gasps out loud. Bucky’s jaw drops and Brock tries not to laugh. Natasha only shakes her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Brock goes on, aiming to get stuck in deep with this one. “Now ya get why I don’t mention nothin’. He ain’t the friendliest of people and I’m pretty sure the guy hates me. Now that ya idiots know, can we..”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gestures towards the rink, but Bucky steps in his path before he can proceed past them and puts his hands on his shoulders, much too serious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Brock, you know we support you, right?” He has his supportive best bro face on. “Even if you have the worst taste.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey!” Clint says. “He gave me a slice of his pizza once, I’m forever bound to protect Jack’s honor. But Brock, you really do have the worst taste.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At least he picked someone on the team and not some opponent.” Natasha points out, annoyingly snapping the gum she’s been chewing on. “We can work with this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about it.” Brock tells them, playfully shoving Bucky off. “I’ll get over it and you all can watch me bring in guys for one nighters again. Now if we’re done ‘ere, I’d like to think about other things besides Jack..like hockey.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no! Now that we know what’s up, we need to do something about it.” Bucky says with a decisive nod to himself. “This is what friends are for isn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Help what?” Brock complains and tries to make another escape only to get tugged back inside the locker room by the sleeve of his jersey by Bucky. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Makes sense, I’m in.” Natasha says. “I love a good matchmaking scheme. I’ll enlist Wanda, she knows Jack better than anyone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I’ll recruit Steve, you know just in case.” Bucky beams. “There’s no way this can go wrong.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wonder if Tony would be into helping.” Clint muses. “He’s always up for some plotting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Coach Coulson’s whistle sounds too close to the corridor instead of by the ice and it makes them all wince in various ways all at once.  It’s only a warning by the look of the time against the wall clock, but at least the momentary distraction means Brock can break through the barrier made by his meddling friends after grabbing his stick to make his way out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’ll probably forget about the whole thing by lunchtime tomorrow, he thinks, then puts it out of his mind and lets his world narrow down to the plexiglass boundaries containing the floor of pure, smooth ice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They don’t forget about it by lunchtime.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock does, but is annoyingly reminded when a good chunk of the team corners him in the cafeteria, giving him meaningful looks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” He asks suspiciously, taking another bite of his burrito and swallowing it down without even tasting it. He’s got one more class then afternoon practice, then Sam wants to go for a run with him and talk strategy for the upcoming game. Sometime between dinner and morning practice he has to do some research for a paper and, he supposes, sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, we need a battle plan.” Clint announces, smoothing out a page he ripped out from Bucky’s notebook. Natasha puts a pen into his outstretched hand and Wanda eagerly sits down at the empty seat beside him to look over his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do we know so far?” Bucky says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Brock is secretly pining over Jack, our indecipherable right winger.” Clint replies casually, already chewing at the end of the pen. “Jack is gay..or, we at least know he’s into guys because Bucky once walked in on him making out with that exchange student last month. Bucky, wasn’t he dark haired?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Bucky nods, too eager. “Maybe that’s his type!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He punches Brock’s shoulder too enthusiastically. Brock narrowly avoids returning the favor but at his friend’s face. He knows that they all just want to help and it’s something like a fun activity for them but it’s just really..strange.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wanda will neither confirm or deny things we ask her about Jack that seems to borderline on really personal, but I’d say it’s safe to assume Jack is generally open to making out with handsome dark haired guys. So, we just need to figure out how to get him to make out with </span>
  <em>
    <span>our</span>
  </em>
  <span> handsome dark haired guy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clint reaches over to mess up Brock’s carefully styled hair, but Brock manages to lean away just enough to the side that his hand doesn’t quite reach. In an unforeseen twist of events, this brings him into Natasha’s space, who has no qualms about grabbing him into a headlock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know!” Clint suddenly announces, slapping his hands down on the table and causing all the trays to jump. “We need to get them alone together, so Brock can make his move and Jack will realise how hot Brock is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“<em>My move?</em>” Brock parrots out, feeling more tense than he did a minute ago. “Hey, I know yer all tryin’ to figure this out, but I really don’t think I need yer help with this- ”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Actually, I think you do.” Natasha tells him bluntly. “So far, any attempts you’ve made to seduce him yourself have consisted of walking around in your gross hockey gear while talking too obnoxiously about everything and talking shit about the other team. Also your stretches, while could look good, are never used for ulterior motives.  Imagine chatting Jack up while presenting to him just how flexible you could be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t forget that time Jack asked him for that last grapefruit jarritos when we all hit the Mexican restaurant a couple weeks ago and Brock threw the bottle at him from the other end of the table instead of passing it on like a normal person.” Clint points out while Bucky nods in agreement as does Steve. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Traitors.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He gets into a fight almost every second game!  He can handle a fuckin’ bottle!” Brock protests. “I knew he’d catch it anyway, it was fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But it was a glass bottle, Brock.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clint sighs and shakes his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, let’s think.” Bucky says, stealing the pen and paper away. “What interests do Brock and Jack have in common?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a stumped silence around the table, then Clint raises his head. “Trying to look scary?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m goin’ to class.” Brock announces, pushing back in his chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Trying to look scary isn’t an interest.” Natasha says. “What about- ”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut it!” Bucky hisses, low key waving his hand to shoo away any new thing Natasha’s about to say as Jack walks up to their table holding a tray that has a plate with a cheeseburger and fries on it beside a full blender bottle and two chocolate pudding cups stacked one on top of the other. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not only does Natasha shut up, the whole entire table goes quiet and Brock rolls his eyes.  He pulls himself up and gestures to Jack to take his seat just before he steals a pudding cup, getting a raised brow in return, clearly suspicious to what he’s just arrived at.  He doesn’t say a thing, not like any of them will and walks away to head back to his locker.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rollins, Rumlow, you’re both on clean up.” Coach Coulson calls out after their last full practice before the game on Friday. The ice is a mess, and Brock’s guilty of doing at least half of it trying to score on Tony with little success. Sweat is running down his back in uncomfortable streaks and his lungs strain to get enough air all the while when he breathes in the chill burns inside. He’s too exhausted to wonder if this is a ploy to get him alone with Jack that the guys somehow manipulated the coach into doing without knowing what’s up, until they’ve all cleared out in record speed to change and he feels Jack’s eyes piercing into him, expectant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll get the pucks, you do the cones and shit?” Brock offers, picking up a bucket. Jack shrugs but starts snagging cones off the floor and stacking them, getting most of it done in quick succession since he’s still on his skates. Brock kicks stray pucks across the ice towards the net where most of the rest are and collects them in his bucket, enjoying the smooth, slick slice of their blades on ice echoing around the rink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The locker room is deserted by the time they’ve locked up all of the equipment. Brock’s distracted with his laces and only realizes Jack’s already in the shower when he hears the water running. He wonders for a brief, absent moment what Jack looks like fully naked and wet, rubbing soap along his tired shoulders, sure he’s seen Jack mostly naked and mostly wet but not entirely..or fully frontal.  Brock shoves the thought aside and slips into the shower room, purposefully taking the opposite end as he ignores the weird sensation it gives him when it’s only the two of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky’s always been big on taking care of his body, and as of late he’s been singing the praises of some kind of sports medicine bar soap that’s supposed to relax those sore muscles and strains without the need for meds.  He’s been so in love with it, he’s bought the whole team their own bars to try out, and Brock has yet to use his, but from others he’s found he enjoys the herbal, woodsy kind of scent it gives off that’s not too overpowering. He wonders if Jack uses his, then again shoves those kinds of dumb thoughts aside to get washed up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock’s toweling off his hair when he hears </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> just outside of the shower room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Problem?” Brock calls over, wrapping the towel around his waist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine, I’ll figure it out.” Jack replies tightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock gets dressed quickly, Jack at his locker with a towel around his waist. When Jack still hasn’t changed, he looks over.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you lose somethin’?” He asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a pause, then Jack looks towards him revealing an empty locker.  “I left my duffel bag at the team bench.  I don’t know if the cleaners are here yet and- ” He makes a weak gesture at himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Brock says, frowning, before something clicks. “<em>Oh</em>. Hold on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leaves the locker room and jogs down the hall, pushing open some double doors before and bracing the cool rush of air that greets him. He gives the benches a quick survey and after a brief duck down, he finds Jack’s hockey bag and grabs it</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Returning, he dumps the bag on the bench next to Jack and doesn’t wait around. The broken vending machine by the supply closet needs a few good, hard kicks until it spits out his favorite sports drink and he sits down on one of the plastic chairs along the hall wall to sip at it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gets up after a couple of minutes to stretch, and then groans at the pull in his muscles, stopping abruptly when he notices Jack’s standing at the locker room doors watching.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe he needs to give that herbal soap shit a try.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are ya set to get goin’?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack holds up his car keys like it’s a stupid question and Brock, feeling the heaviness in his legs and arms, nods gratefully and offers him the rest of his drink in exchange.  Jack’s given him a ride a few times whenever they had to carpool or clean up after practice together.  It’s a godsend when his own car is a broken down piece of shit and currently collects dust on his front lawn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They drive home in companionable silence and Jack polishes off the bottle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock’s house is dark as usual, his dad probably isn’t even home yet and if he’s lucky he’ll be asleep before he does. He gets out and grabs his bag from the backseat just as Jack’s lowering his passenger side window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can fix that hunk of junk for you, I just need the parts.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock does a double take; from Jack, to his car and then back to Jack. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack shrugs. “It’s a hobby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll get back to ya.” Is all he can say in his surprise.  The mechanic his dad goes to wanted way too fucking much.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All Jack does is give him a nod and close his window again, driving away while Brock watches after him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock isn’t sure how the others manage to time it but most days he ends up having lunch alone with Jack. It’s fine; they both just sit and eat quietly, and sometimes Brock steals Jack’s apple because he buys them for some reason but hates them and Jack swipes his chocolate pudding because it’s a temptation and Brock really needs to stop picking up packs of it from the supermarket. Jack doesn’t try to push his opinions on him, or try to gossip about this or that, sometimes he’s buried so deep into a book that Brock gets time to watch videos instead of being interrupted and forced to pause every so often when someone tries talking to him. As far as Brock can tell Jack doesn’t give a shit about who he spends his lunch break with as long as it isn’t someone on the team trying to review team plays from their last game.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clint sends them both on a late night store run after they unexpectedly win their game against the Hydras, and Brock is still riding the high when he gets into Jack’s car, legs aching and restless at the same time. For a long moment Jack looks like he wants to say something, then he simply just turns the volume up on something indie-rock sounding but real easy to digest, city lights passing across his face as they speed down Main Street at night. Brock’s heart beats faster in time with the car and the music and he feels like his chest is full to bursting, like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world right now except here. It feels strange.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The glaring bright light of the supermarket makes his eyes ache as they step inside. Jack grabs a cart and on a whim Brock struggles but eventually manages to climb inside it, laughing when Jack only smirks and then starts to push him down the aisle before he jumps on once it has enough speed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s dumb and wonderful, and they nearly collide into a box stuffing display, but Jack stops them at the last moment with squeaking shoes and a ridiculous show of strength. Brock grins at him, then leans out of the cart moving some of the boxes of stuffing in a way that it’s set to collapse the moment someone new touches it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack gives him a look that Brock can’t figure out, then starts pushing him down the next aisle and piles overpriced candy on him while Brock tries his best to snatch everything they need in passing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t stop himself from grinning like an idiot, it’s definitely one of his best nights ever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It gets colder, and more often than not, Brock lets Jack give him a ride to the ice rink now. He still hasn’t decided about his car and eventually he’ll figure it out but right now he’s good. The others seem to think there’s some greater meaning to the fact that Jack lets Brock sit in the passenger seat when they carpool, replacing Bucky who now has to squeeze between Clint and Scott in the back, but Brock knows it’s just because he usually keeps quiet and doesn’t bug Jack with hockey. He figures sooner or later they’re bound to lose interest in the whole matchmaking scheme, but every once in a while they spring a new plan on him out of nowhere, and Brock is starting to wonder if Jack is really that oblivious or if he’s aware of what they’re doing but just doesn’t care.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least Clint has stopped pointing out potential ‘hotties’ to Brock and bugging him about what exactly his dream guy is. If Brock is honest, he doesn’t have a dream guy mapped out in his head, but at least all this plotting over hanging out with Jack has been fun.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A team movie night at the theatres gets turned into a surprise date when everyone apart from Brock and Jack just </span>
  <em>
    <span>happens</span>
  </em>
  <span> to cancel at the last minute. Jack shrugs about it and buys a bucket of popcorn plus a pair of drinks.  They decide to watch some shitty looking zombie horror movie instead of the rom-com the others had originally picked out, though Brock’s secretly glad he read up on the horror movie’s plot by sheer coincidence since he’d never really wanted to see it in the first place.  He’s not a fan of horrors, but everything else looked stupid, and for some reason Jack was eager to see it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sit in the darkened theatre; surrounded by hushed chatter, soft velvet and the scent of butter and sugary things.  Brock kicks his feet up on the seat in front of him and slides down until he’s lounging comfortably, stealing handfuls of popcorn from Jack and wondering vaguely what it would be like to kiss him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s kissed a fair few people in the past. Most of them were alright.  Sure he likes making out and the stuff that leads up to it, but nothing compared to the thrill he feels at the sound of a goal buzzer going off after a puck hits the back of the net just so perfectly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Idiot.” Jack mutters, almost whispering, when one of the characters stumbles and falls in the movie, too horrified to get back up to start running again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he had to kiss someone, Brock thinks, he’d probably pick Jack. Jack isn’t much to look at, okay so maybe that’s sorta a lie, but he’s not really looking </span>
  <em>
    <span>at</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jack like that so whatever, he guesses he is good looking.  Anyway, he’s pretty good on the ice, like ridiculously good, and is easy company, which is more than can be said for most of the others on the team. Jack wouldn’t trip and fall while running from the walking undead either. Jack wouldn’t run in the first place, he’d be confident and heroic and really hot wielding a hockey stick like a weapon..</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their fingers brush as Brock reaches blindly for more popcorn to stuff in his mouth. He jerks back guiltily and tries to put thoughts of kissing out of his mind for the rest of the movie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they exit the theatre, it’s dark outside and the streets are shiny with rain. Brock flicks the collar of his windbreaker up against the wind and shoves his hands in his pockets, pressing a little closer near Jack’s side in hopes to steal some of his endless radiating body heat.  He should have gotten his winter coat for this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That was so fuckin’ awful.” He says. “Let’s do it again some time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack hums in agreement, taking a few sips from his straw before holding the last of his soda out for him in silent offer. Brock immediately takes it, and puts his lips where Jack’s were only moments before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A tiny shiver trips down his spine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are ya hungry?” Spills out of his mouth before he can stop himself. He doesn’t want to go back home and have his bubble burst once more to remind him just how shitty life is for him aside from hockey, and Jack is right there, staring up at the stars blanketing the sky, looking like he has nothing better to do either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose I could eat.” Jack says after a long moment of thought. He always makes people wait for answers, like he’s testing if they really want to know. Most of the time, the conversation moves on without him and he seems absolutely fine with that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock is willing to wait for whatever little bit Jack is willing to give up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They walk down the road together, past a checkerboard of storefront windows, some too dark and some shining spotlights over what they sell. Bright open signs attract their eyes to the places still doing business before it gets too late, and windows have started to show artworks of pumpkins and skeletons peeking from around corners in the spiral of Halloween.  Brock supposes inside, most of the stores have been decorated with cheap looking plastic stands and decor for it, but after watching that horror movie, he’s happy he’s not bumping into any of it in the darkness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They get about a block before Jack stops at a small doner kebab shop and Brock gets a beef wrap fully loaded, a small puff of steam wafting into the cool air as he bites into it. They stand under a light that occasionally flickers out by one of the card tables with a couple lawn chairs, Jack opening his lamb rice plate to look it over before he starts too. They watch other people place their orders, the warmth of the rotating spits mingling with the cold outside that creates an odd mix of sensations. It’s nice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do ya think is scarier..” Brock says, licking a smear of garlic aioli from the corner of his mouth. “Deep space or deep sea?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack stops eating and considers this. “Both seem scary in their own way, I guess space. You?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Space too.” Brock agrees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack is quiet, takes a sip of his water.  “Xenomorphs. Not sure I want to fuck with them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah! I was thinkin’ the same thing.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean there’s a whole bunch of terrible stuff deep, deep in the ocean. But- ” He waves his plastic fork vaguely in the direction of the night sky, which is inky black out tonight with stars strewn across it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, exactly.” Brock says. “The same thing could be down there, jus water breathin’ but it’s like, I dunno somethin’ fucked up when it’s up there with <em>nothin'</em>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mhm.” Jack hums, polishing off his food so quickly even Brock is amazed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They head back to Jack’s car, talking about how the movie could have been scarier. Brock shivers in his windbreaker and when his teeth actually start to chatter halfway through a rant about how cookie-cutter many garbage </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hollywood</span>
  </em>
  <span> horror movies are, Jack stops walking, takes off his leather jacket, and holds it out to Brock with an expectant look in his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock raises an eyebrow in return.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you catch a cold, the team will never let me hear the end of it.” Jack mutters, giving his jacket a vague shake in his version of insistence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock holds back a smile, and it’s really fucking hard to restrain himself. He takes the jacket, drapes it around his shoulders, inhales the smell of faint traces of gasoline and motor oil, and that sharp, piney scent of the massage bar he still hasn’t tried. He imagines, for a moment, getting to rub them into Jack’s muscles after a game. Smoothing the bar over his skin, kneading his fingers into the tight flesh to really work the oils in. There’s freckles along the top of Jack’s shoulders and upper back in the summertime, he wonders how many other places hide them on his body, if one day he could count them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He forgets to return the leather jacket when he climbs out of Jack’s car and heads into his house.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There you are, finally!” Natasha says, waving at Brock to step inside. They’re in Wanda’s bedroom, and there’s a giant blanket fort on the floor in front of the TV, prepped with bowls of popcorn and snacks, soft blankets, and a basket with mysterious cosmetics. Natasha told him he was to arrive wearing his nicest pair of pajamas, then promptly went out and bought him some when he said he didn’t own a pair.  He usually just sleeps in boxers and a t-shirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” He utters out, still looking around and absolutely unsure what he’s doing here. “Are yer parents home, Wanda?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. They’re gone for the weekend.” She explains with a smile. “Pietro is home but he’s locked up in his bedroom with his steaming friends doing a raid or something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Brock, no one thinks you’re here to get laid, calm down.” Natasha gets to her feet and pulls him onto a cushion between her and Clint then sits down cross-legged, wearing black silk pajama bottoms and a lacy red spaghetti strapped tank top. Wanda is in a long, simple pink nightgown, and Clint is wearing purple sleep pants with orange cats on them and a sleeveless white tee that shows off his modest, but decent arms. Brock supposes since Clint’s dating Natasha and has his guns out </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> gaudy cats, she lets him off with a pass. At least Brock’s grateful Natasha just bought blue flannel for him to wear and not something with ugly cartoons on them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, we’re all here!” Clint says, rubbing his hands together. “What’s first on the agenda?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>First on the agenda are face masks, apparently, and Brock doesn’t know what he got himself into. Natasha hands Brock a small bowl of something that looks like teal pudding and instructs him to smear it all over his face. The girls and Clint have their own small bowls and do the same, Clint slathering on something purple, Wanda picks a dusty pink one, and Natasha goes for a dark brown coffee scrub that makes the whole room smell like a coffee shop. The stuff dries on Brock’s face as the girls talk about their class subjects and plans for Thanksgiving while Clint steals the remote to watch Cartoon Network. The stuff is a pain to wash off when Brock finally is allowed to, but he feels weirdly fresh after, like he’s gone for a run on a winter morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moisturise.” Natasha tells him next, handing out a hand sized bottle of face cream from her basket of tricks. It smells a bit like the chocolate protein shake Jack always drinks at the cafeteria. Brock rubs it in and nearly laughs at the thought of Jack’s reaction to seeing him like this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Next on the agenda involves watching and mocking some crappy reality TV shows they love to watch but hate to admit to others they do while Clint French braids Wanda’s hair. Brock eats his way through a bowl of jalapeno kettle chips and buttered popcorn before he figures out he’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> enjoying himself, even if he’s completely amused at how used to this Clint is.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock figures this has been done a few times without his company before tonight and it makes him feel sorta special to be invited. Natasha and Clint share a bottle of soda between them and have a burping contest as they play Mortal Kombat against each other while Brock is pulled into a conversation about mystic healing stones and gems with Wanda. They make waffles at midnight when Pietro finally comes out of his dark cave and asks his twin if she can make him something. Clint and Pietro spray whipped cream directly into their mouths, competing over how much they can fit while Wanda makes waffles and Natasha begins frying bacon.  Brock sits on the counter watching while he eats spare chocolate chips from a jar next to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow two AM sneaks up on them as they’re sitting in a circle in the blanket fort with all the lights off except for a few candles, talking about how stupid ouija boards are when Natasha gives him a look that Brock always fucking dreads.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, Brock.” Natasha says casually when the conversation has wilted down a little. Heavy rain pelts against the windows and Wanda loads up Friday the 13th after they take a vote. “We need an update. How are things going with tall, dark and handsome?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tall, dark and handsome?” Brock repeats innocently, playing dumb.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jack.” Clint chimes in. “You two have been spending an awful lot of time together lately.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You came home wearing his jacket the other day.” Natasha says with a smirk. “And you were <em>smiling</em>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Believe it or not, I do that sometimes.  Ain’t against the law.” Brock mutters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He always waits around for you after practice whenever I come by.” Wanda calls out as she flips through some dvd’s.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah my car’s busted, he gives me a ride ‘ome.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You two were basically eye fucking each other at lunch the other day.” Clint tells him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In an entirely platonic way.” Brock replies sarcastically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you admit you want to fuck him? Platonically.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I- what? No.” Brock says. “Is that a trick question or somethin’?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You want to fuck him non-platonically?” Natasha offers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I don’t wanna fuck him.” Brock corrects, rolling his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I see how it is,” Clint teases, he grins so wide his teeth are blinding and he uses the moment of distraction to steal the best pillow from him. “You want him to fuck <em>you</em>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock sighs and lets himself fall backwards until he’s lying down with his legs still crossed. “Not everythin’s about fuckin’, ya know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You only have two hyperfixations, Brock. Jack and hockey.” Natasha points out. “And there are no secrets in hockey. What else are we going to interrogate you about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought we all agreed we weren’t going to interrogate him at all.” Wanda points out. She gives Brock a gentle smile when he looks her way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For what it’s worth..” Clint says, poking Brock’s ribs causing him to kick out his leg. “I think you two look weirdly good together. Even good for each other. I know I was kind of unsure at first- ”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, has he admitted he has the hots for you yet?” Natasha interrupts, all business.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Brock replies, feeling weirdly warm. “Can we talk about somethin’ else?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha tsks at him in disapproval. “I thought Jack was better than that, he’s almost as repressed as you. The both of you deserve each other.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just give them time.” Wanda says diplomatically. “And space. If it’ll happen, it’ll happen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lots and lots of space.” Brock agrees, nodding. “An ocean of fuckin’ space.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe we should dress you up, I wonder what really gets Jack going.” Clint muses, poking at Brock again. “I have a few ideas involving a maid outfit and fishnets..”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope, fuck off.” Brock grunts out,  sitting up so abruptly he feels dizzy for a moment. “If this is the topic of the night I’m goin’ to bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gets to his feet to protests and pleading, but he really has reached his limit for tonight. At least he can find solace in the fact that the Maximoff’s have a guest bedroom just for him. Natasha follows after him after a moment, looking utterly sophisticated still despite the creases in her silk pajamas and the little flecks of coffee scrub in her hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, there are several bets going about you and Jack.” She whispers, leaning against the door frame. “If you help me win them, mainly you two getting together at Stark’s, I’ll split the money with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, yeah sure.” Brock says with a roll of his eyes. “Of course there are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up. Just think about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Watching her return back to Wanda’s room, he thinks about it, and then immediately puts it out of his mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s definitely time for bed and nothing more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack is acting weird.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock can’t put his finger on how exactly he’s acting weird, he just knows that he is. It’s late and Jack is driving them home from Thor Odinson’s pre-Halloween bash in the pouring rain, hands gripping the steering wheel more tightly than usual. Clint, Bucky and Scott are fast asleep in the back seat. Scott’s mouth hangs open drooling on himself, Bucky is snoring, and Clint is mumbling incoherently. Brock feels wide awake. He watches the rain skid along the window and breathes in the silence after the ongoing noise at the hall party. He stares at the tight curl of Jack’s hands, and then back out the window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, you okay?” He asks, glancing at Jack again. Light streams over them for a moment, highlighting the angry set of his jaw, the way even his scar sets oddly, the pink flush of his neck. Brock is momentarily fascinated by how green his eyes look at night. It makes him think about all the shades he’s seen them change to, and how many he has yet to still see.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack doesn’t answer, just keeps driving, fast and relentless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jus outta interest, are ya aimin’ to lose yer license or what?” Brock throws out, holding the roof handle above him until his knuckles go white when Jack makes a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> sharp turn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You like me.” Jack forces out through gritted teeth, slowing down <em>just barely</em>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock blinks. Opens his mouth to say something to deny it, but instead closes it again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“According to them.” Jack adds on, glancing briefly in the rearview mirror at the peanut gallery of Clint, Bucky and Scott in the back seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Brock says. “Uh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack doesn’t say anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had to happen sooner or later, Brock thinks. He doesn’t really know what he expected, but it definitely wasn’t the angry twist of Jack’s hands, the frustrated jut of his jaw. Something tightens up in Brock’s throat, large and cumbersome. Maybe his heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He swallows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was jus a joke.” He scrambles to explain. They turn down a shopping district to cut through, the glare of orange and white lights blinds Brock momentarily.  “Ya don’t need to worry ‘bout it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack is still quiet. His hands haven’t relaxed around the steering wheel, but his eyes have lost a bit of the tension set there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not.” He finally says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great.” Brock supplies. “Good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They don’t speak again for the rest of the drive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha bullies them all into going to the impromptu Halloween party at Tony’s at the edge of town. Brock tries to stall for as long as possible, sinking deeper into the couch cushions he’s been sitting on, but Bucky digs him out with ease and tells him to get a move on. Brock mostly doesn’t want to go because it’s vaguely where Natasha wants to win her bet and there’s no way in hell he’s getting stuck in a closet somewhere with Jack, he knows it won’t happen, Jack won’t let it happen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Since not all of them have come prepared, they stop at a department store to scrounge for last minute costumes. Natasha and Clint pick out matching sexy couples costumes, Bucky immediately starts to criticize the historical accuracy of the Roman foot soldier costume, and Jack wanders off with Wanda and comes back with nothing changed on his leather jacket, dark clothes get up except for the fact that he’s wearing a red tie around the collar of his shirt, laid out over the black sweater he’s wearing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I see.” Brock muses. “Stealin’ ideas now huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack’s eyes snap to him for the first time since their conversation in the car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Idea?” He repeats.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The tie.” Brock continues. “<em>I’m a homicidal maniac, they look just like everyone else.</em> The Addams Family is a classic.  Figured you’d do somethin’ more underground or whatever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My plans were staying at home.” Jack bites out, like he’s being dragged out to party against his will.  Though, when it comes to Natasha, it just may be true, Brock knows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mon killjoy.” Brock prods. “Help me find a costume? We could match the moods we’re in.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack looks around the selection then picks a very bushy, much-too-long wig of brown hair and places it on Brock’s head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A smirk crosses his lips in thought as Jack shifts through an aisle of accessories before he’s putting black sunglasses over his eyes.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cousin It.” Jack offers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Genius.” Brock says, though he’s ruining it by adjusting the hair a little, he knows full well how ridiculous he looks even without the fix.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack is <em>fucking hilarious</em>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clint whines and complains at them both over their lack of effort when they all reconvene in the parking lot, but everyone is hungry, so they pile into the cars and get food. Brock shares a pizza with Bucky and keeps stealing bits of pepperoni off Jack’s meat one.  He doesn’t miss the others exchanging obvious glances at that, but for once he doesn’t even mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The party is massive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock immediately gets lost in the crowd, he has to when Clint starts talking about drinking games to Thor and he wants to not be around when that happens. He wanders the different rooms of the mansion for a while, idly watches people swimming around in an olympic sized pool with their costumes on: a guy in a bear suit tries not to let his costume weigh him down and the white cake makeup melts off a vampire’s face.  Carrying on, he skirts around all the couples making out in the hallway, loses his sunglasses somewhere along the way but acquires a necklace of beads and flower crown instead. He nurses a soda, nods his head to the loud dance music, finds a patch of wall to lean against and stays there, lets the differently coloured lights slide over him until Jack finds him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi.” He says, shuffling a bit to the side so Jack can lean beside him. Jack knocks back his drink, sets the empty bottle on the floor and looks at him. There’s a smudge of glitter on his cheek from God knows where, and Brock reaches out to rub his thumb along it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment, he thinks Jack shivers, but it’s probably just the erratic twitch of the lights.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Making out with random fairies again?” Brock asks, unsure of </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’s asking, though he’s well aware it’s a level of double entendre that may be vague even for Jack.  He sips his soda and grins when Jack </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> looks at him and he knows it’s clicked in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s Wanda’s glitter.” Jack tells him, like it explains everything. He nods to the beads. “What about you? Flashing people again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s Mardi Gras somewhere.” Brock grins and winks at him, then goes back to leaning against the wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Brock.” Jack says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock turns his head around towards him. “Jack.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack looks back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Brock says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack just keeps looking at him. The light paints over his skin, orange and purple and pink. Brock is pretty sure that whoever blinks first loses, except then Jack’s gaze abruptly drops down to his lips and hesitates to go back up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I win.” Brock murmurs, before leaning in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack’s hand stops him a mere centimetres away from his goal and Brock waits, strangely patient. Jack’s fingers fist slowly into the front of his shirt, as if unsure whether to push him away or pull him in. He does both in the end, manhandles him so he can crowd Brock up against the wall, shielding him completely with his body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock only swoons a little bit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still a joke?” Jack asks after he leans in by Brock’s ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Brock admits, tilting his head so Jack can hear him clear as day over the edm. “M’self destructive, not stupid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re so- ” Jack starts, but then leans in when Brock gets ready to say something smart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Being kissed by Jack isn’t like he imagined. He wasn’t wrong about Jack being good at it, but..it’s not as simple to take in as he thought. Not even close. It’s..</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like the sound of skates crossing unblemished ice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like the roar of a crowd.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like scoring the overtime goal in the first thirty seconds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adrenaline courses through him as Jack’s mouth takes him apart, slowly and methodically. Brock’s own hands come up to grab for support, finally settling at Jack’s upper arms, holding him so tight so he knows it’s not a dream. Jack crowds closer and their bodies press together. It’s surreal and fantastic and he doesn’t want it to stop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh..” He mumbles when Jack pulls off with a series of lingering little kisses. “So that's what it’s like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is?” Jack murmurs hoarsely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothin’.” Brock says, and distracts himself with Jack’s wrinkled, crooked tie. He eventually pulls Jack in again to get more kisses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a while they both need to catch their breath and finally Jack breaks the silence between them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You never said anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“About what?” Brock questions, trying not to smirk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack looks exasperated. Brock grins and tangles his tie around his fingers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah okay, <em>fine</em>.  I do like ya.” He admits. “But ya like me, too. So it’s whatever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack shakes his head and looks up towards the ceiling but doesn’t refute it. Brock grins wider, and Jack leans in to kiss the smugness away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, how interested would ya be if I told ya I might know a way to make some money off this?” Brock inquires when they break apart again, thinking of Natasha and her bets, already having a few ideas on how they could use that to their advantage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack rolls his eyes. “What are you up to now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t act like I do this all the damn time, I ain’t Barton.” Brock says, poking his chest. “Besides, I always have fun plots when I do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As before, Jack doesn’t argue about it and Brock feels more and more pleased to clear things up between them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You two did what, <em>where</em>?” Natasha asks, her face a mixture of amusement and something akin surprise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh huh.” Brock confirms again smugly, dropping himself down on the couch to lay out. “I mean, everyone was makin’ out </span>
  <em>
    <span>everywhere</span>
  </em>
  <span> and I don’t even know how many rooms had people fuckin’ in them.  It was the best place we could think of.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stretches his arms over his head before tucking his hands behind it. His whole body smells like pine and whatever else is in those herbal bars. He found Jack’s secret stash last night when they snuck back to his house while his parents were asleep and it’s been amazing to say the least.  So maybe they didn’t hook up in Stark’s broom closet like he said, but it’s Stark’s place that she bet on.  If he’s going to take the eighty percent cut, because she’s more in it for the glory of being right, he’s totally fine lying for it especially when Jack will confirm all the little details if anyone asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha squints at him. “Considering the fact that it took you several months to get here with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jack</span>
  </em>
  <span> of all people, you got into his pants awfully quick.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Actually, he got into mine. I jus didn’t stop ‘im.” Brock says innocently. “Ya know, because I’ve been pinin’ fer so long.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know you’re fucking with me somehow, I just can’t tell how right now.  But I will and when I do, you’re going to get it.” Natasha warns as she pulls out her purse wallet to count out a few bills then sets it on his chest with a pat. “Never mind, I guess you deserve it. Go buy yourself something nice. Maybe something for Jack too, I guess he deserves it the way you’re smiling like that.  It’s kind of creepy, Rumlow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock only grins wider. “I mean, he does ‘ave a big- ”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to know.” She cuts in, waving her hands at him. “I’ve been in the locker rooms while you’re all changing.  You can figure out a lot of things under there when a guy’s only wearing a towel.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dreamily, Brock thinks back to it and nods. “It’s all fuckin’ true too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh, you’re disgusting.  You both deserve each other.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yer right, Natty.” Brock says as settles against the couch for a nap after he pockets the money. “We do deserve each other.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe his meddling friends were right, but he still refuses to acknowledge that they had anything to do with it. Obviously him and Jack were going to get together somehow, all they needed was the little extra push.</span>
</p>
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